


In Deceivers, We Trust

by specialtrauma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death Rituals, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Secrets, Gang Violence, Hozier Ghost Wrote This, I'm Sorry, Magic AU, Not Beta Read, Ole Mississippi, Only In The South, Psychological Horror, Redemption, Southern Gothic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialtrauma/pseuds/specialtrauma
Summary: .There is a burning Church that haunts her, but in order to find it, Hermione Granger will need to navigate through the plethora of ancient secrets that Little Hangleton's dismal swamps and cobwebbed plantations seem to hide. Despite beginning to feel at home among the charming individuals that live and work among the outcasts, she doesn't have time to forget the mission.Odd things are beginning to happen, and Hermione has an irking feeling that the tall, dark man with abilitiesmuchlike her own is behind them....Tomione/Southern Gothic AU





	In Deceivers, We Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my trash. I hope it's readable, and if you think I should continue please let me know. :) I have a good old southern gothic planned out for us! If you like it, I'd appreciate if you let me know!
> 
> special trauma @ tumblr.com, come talk to me please!
> 
>  
> 
>  _Italics_ are lyrics, or Hermione's inner thoughts.

**PROLOGUE**

_‘Be silent in that solitude,_  
_Which is not loneliness – for then_  
_The spirits of the dead, who stood_  
_In life before thee, are again_  
_In death around thee, and their will_  
_Shall overshadow thee; be still’_  
  
Edgar Allan Poe, Spirits of the Dead

_-_

_Mississippi, 1983_

 

The pads of her fingertips met the metal of the double-barrelled shotgun under her driver's seat.  _Breathe. In. Out. In again._

The coolness of the steel and iron thrummed beneath her, her magic seeking it out and sizzling in a static energy along the barrel.  _Out again._

When she brought her eyes back up to the reflection of the man in her rear-view mirror, she knew that she'd made an unconscious decision to use the weapon beneath her. Her engine was dead, steam and smoke billowing out from beneath the hood, her only chance of escaping her old life cold and buried six feet under.

Minutes ago, the Bald Cypress surrounding the gravelly road allowed a stream of moonlight through their thick canopy, and as she turned the corner, she caught sight of the man basking in it, lying _spread eagle_  in the middle of the road. Panic invaded her senses, and before she knew what she was doing, she was veering off road to avoid hitting him.  _A spirit?_ But the spirits she saw liked to stay out of her way, and they were almost always blue- their pale skin full of varicose veins, their eyes cold and lifeless while they wandered about, searching for lives lost or loves that had long since passed in their absence. They were stuck in an endless purgatory of misery.

Never had they acted so, well, oddly. Not to mention, this was the first one she'd seen in  _years_. 

The car shot through the grassy brush to the right of him, but she hadn't seen the weathered old tree stump until it was too late. It obliterated the front of her second-hand car with surprising resistance, her head shooting forward and colliding with the leather of the steering wheel. The metal of the cars exterior was crushed and warped, the windscreen forming a mosaic of glass that could break at any moment. She sat there, panting against the steering wheel, her forehead sporting a fashionably large cut and her thighs bruised from the brief air she caught on collision. 

The radio she'd been listened to fizzled into nothingness, along with the engine. Her fingers itched against the wheel, desperate for some semblance of control, her magic begging to be used. She allowed it, closing her eyes and feeling the ooze of her blood drip down her nose and finally dry, cracking against her skin, the cut on her forehead healing together quickly with the hum of her ability. It was during this moment that she searched for the weapon beneath her, the man not budging from his position on the road and causing any and all feelings of suspicion that she had the ability to possess. 

The other spirits moved freely of their own accord, walking like normal humans and embarking on their journeys through their Hell of a purgatory. The man on the road was as still as a statue. 

_This can't be a ghost._

She'd had enough trouble for the rest of her life over the last forty-eight hours, and yet here was  _someone_ \- at two in the morning, clad in what looked like silk pyjamas none the less, thinking that his charade was  _funny_. 

She checked to confirm that  _yes_ , her gun was loaded, and she finally felt safe enough to leave her car. She surveyed the line of the Bald Cypress, ready for any kind of ambush on her person. Was it common for people to mug late night travellers? 

This area of Mississippi was foreign to her, but she hadn't thought much about  _where_  she was going when she'd packed her car full of her most valuable possessions and started to drive.

She followed the  **vision** , and that was all. That was her purpose now.   

She felt her fingertips warm with her magical energy, like she had just placed her hands directly onto a hot pan. 

Not here, not  _yet_ \- not in front of somebody she didn't know, were her rules.

Hence the gun that she held in both hands, stalking towards her prey like a woman scorned- the ferocity towards this man no secret in the grim expression she wore. Her car was dead, her parents were dead, and  _nobody_  was coming to save her. 

She wasn't sure where the nearest town was, and she hadn't seen a payphone since the last truck stop. 

To say she was upset was an understatement. She felt tears spring to her eyes, her frustration begging for her to acknowledge it. 

She ignored the bubbling inside her chest, the ferocious sparks of life that made her different to anybody she knew, anybody she had even  _heard of_ , repressed within her. 

"Hey," she called out, the echo of her voice and the crunching of the gravel beneath her sneakers the only sound on the deserted road. She'd made it within ten feet of the man, and she tilted her head as she surveyed him, heart beating wildly in anticipation within her chest. 

He was long and gangly underneath the silken pyjamas, his skin white and delicate-looking for somebody that lived in Mississippi, like he'd never even seen the sun. His head was a mop of platinum, flaxen hair that gleamed blue in the moonlight. Yes, the light painted him a handsome man- but she knew better. His lips were not blue, and his skin held a flush of colour. He was indeed alive. 

_So what's he doing here?_

She pursed her lips.

"Hey!" she called out a bit louder this time, her hands simmering with the gradual increase of heat from her magic. 

He didn't budge, but she saw his pale lashes flutter against his eyelids, and as she edged closer (cautiously) she could see the rise and fall of his chest in the silken shirt he wore. She was getting impatient. After waiting for several minutes, it was clear that nobody was going to come out and mug her- so she stepped even closer until she could kick his ankle with the heel of her shoe.

She did this, stepping back quickly with a squeak in case he sprung up and surprised her.

When he didn't do that, she felt a bit silly.

Finally, the adrenaline from the crash wore off, and she was suddenly overwhelmed at the gravity of the situation. She observed him studiously, eyes sweeping over his form and settling on his feet. The bottoms of his feet were blackened from the gravel, and if she looked a bit closer, she saw algae-green plant life between his toes. She wrinkled her nose. 

Well, he was a person- and she was very well helpless now that her car was dead.  _The least he can do is help me. It's his fault, after all._

She was about to sit down next to him when he sat bolt-upright, blue eyes wide and searching as he opened his mouth and released a ferocious gasp. His lungs and throat rattled at the sharp intake of air, and anyone who had heard may have thought that this man had been under-water for too long, depriving himself of the precious air that he now sought hungrily. She screamed in surprise, and before she knew what she was doing, she was cocking the gun and aiming it at the man, her chest heaving. 

He screamed too, once he caught sight of her. He shot up onto his feet, scooting backwards to put distance between them. He made a cacophony of sounds, like he was trying to string together a sentence. 

"Don't-," he panted, "I'll stop-," he shrieked, eyes glued to the weapon in her hand. She blinked, rasping for breath in the aftermath of the stranger's scare. 

"Sleepwalker, are you?" she asked haughtily, hands shaking against her gun. The man began to calm, hands pressed against his chest in terror, his face almost comically scared. When he came down, he surveyed her small form, eyes narrowing in what was first confusion, and then anger. 

"Going to shoot me,  _are you?_ " he mimicked in a pseudo-feminine voice. He sneered, then stepped a little closer, his arms falling down to his sides. "How long have I been here?" he asked a bit more gently. She blinked at him, and it was her turn to act confused.

"What-, How?!- Oh, for God's sake- you were in the middle of the goddamn road! How am  _I_  supposed to know how long you've been out here?" she shrieked at him, dropping the gun towards the road, her arms falling slack against her. The man in front of her began to brush himself down and run fingers through his mop of blonde hair. 

"Where am I?" he asked, ignoring her yammering. He moved his head about like a bird, eyes shooting in every direction until they settled on her car in the distance, smoking against the tree stump. A guilty, gawking look blessed his face and she felt a mean satisfaction blossom in her chest. 

_That's right. Look what you've done._

"Not sure," she said honestly, "I'm... not from around these parts." It wasn't a lie, technically. "Maybe you could help me find the highway?" she made an effort to phrase it in a friendly way, shooting him a small smile through the moonlight. What she really wanted was some compensation, if she was being honest. Whether she deserved it or not was something she didn't want to pay any thought to. 

The man rolled his eyes. "If you can keep up with me, yes- I'll show you how to get there," he drawled, "as for anything  _else_ ," he gave her a pointed look, "I can't help."

He shrugged, then turned on the heel of his foot and started back up the gravelly road, and he disappeared into the blackness of the Bald Cypress' shadows.

Her magic at this point was barely obliging in resistance. She felt all hope disappear along with the stranger, and considered for a moment her plan of action. 

"Wait!" she shrieked out at him, jogging to keep up with him. "Is that it?  _Who's going to pay for my car?!"_  she yelled incredulously. She stayed put, the shadows offering no response. Tears finally free-fell from her face and sent rivulets of dried blood down her cheeks. 

Several minutes passed, and eventually the crunch of the stranger's feet faded into the distance and she knew her chance had left. 

She took a deep, harrowing breath, and  _then_ -

She shot the nearest tree with a dangerous spike of her magic, red spirals shooting from her fingertips and scorching the bark of the Bald Cypress. A fog of curling smoke surrounded her, but it wasn't enough. She continued her onslaught, allowing the anger to fuel her magic- her fingers burning with the electricity from her inner power. She yelled and screamed, the faces of her parents and the ghostly man who'd left her to the wolves ingrained in her thoughts as she destroyed the tree. 

She couldn't remember the last time she lost control, but she didn't care. 

She was alone. She had no chance of reaching the  **vision**  now.

The vision that had led her down this godforsaken road in the first place. 

The Church had come to her several months ago while she was in bed one night, reading through a worn copy of  _Great Expectations_. Her insides lurched like she had just jumped off a cliff, and she gasped, thinking  _no please no_ , and then she was inside her head.

The Church was roaring with flames, and they licked at the weathered wooden boards that framed the building, debris tumbling from the roof. It lit up the midnight sky, serving as the only light that she could see through the darkness. She was watching from several feet away. She couldn’t see them, but she felt somebody at her side, their hand enclosed over hers and as warm as the blaze before them.

It was over barely two seconds later, but it felt like an eternity. It always had.

Ten years ago it had been her mother, and yesterday it had been her father.  _Orphaned_ \- alone in the world, regret her closest friend. She never told them. She'd never told them about the visions, about the magic, about the levitation, about the healing, about the spirits-  _none of it_. 

It was after sulking for hours, replaying the Church's burning in the abyss of her mind, that she decided she'd follow it. Whatever it was, it meant something.

The visions  _always_  meant something. 

Waiting around in the house for her dad to walk through the door wasn’t something that she would miss, after all. It was depressing, and it only served as a painful reminder that she’d be waiting for eternity if she stayed.

Her Ford Pinto, now busted and smoking a hundred feet away, contained most of the valuables that she deemed appropriate to bring with her on her mission to find the Church. It sulked nearby just as she was, having given up her assault on the ancient tree in guilt and collapsing into a heap on the road. 

Her arms sizzled, the tree now glowing with embers and crackling gently against the chirp of insects from what must be a nearby swamp. 

She heard the crunch of gravel from the shadows, and stood up abruptly, eyes searching for where she had dropped the gun. Her magic reached out, searching for the presence of somebody human, somebody who could help her. 

She cleared her throat. "Hello?" she called, her voice raw from crying. 

There was no response, but she felt somebody nonetheless. "Come out," she was almost whispering, "I know you're there."

 _Silence._  Then-

"You can do things too," it wasn't a question, "can't you?"

The man from earlier. He stepped into the blue of the moonlight that streamed through the canopy, face solemn and lost- his earlier confidence gone. She glared at him.

_You should have been more careful._

"Forget what you saw-," she began a removal of his memory, focusing her energy towards him and shutting her eyes in effort, but he rushed at her before she could erase it.

"Stop! Stop, I-... I need your help," he admitted softly. 

She did just that, mouth taut and rising to her feet to meet him in the middle. 

 _What is he playing at? He can't_ do _anything._

She allowed a snort, remembering his earlier behaviour and crossing her arms in a huff. "Why should I help you?" she sniffed, trying to ignore the distance he was closing between them.

He stopped at that, blinking at her and allowing a grimace to cross his handsome face. "Don't tell me  _you've_  never been scared," he sneered, "I just saw you with that tree. You aren't the only one that has emotions, you know!" He caught himself, shaking his head at the ground, "sorry, look- I'm not, um, I'm not good at this. I just know-," he stopped, like it was paining him to admit that he was vulnerable, "-I just think that you can help."

Now, he had her attention.  

"What do you want?" she asked.

The man turned towards the tree, and his blue eyes latched to the embers in the bark. There was a breath, and then-

She heard the embers extinguish in an icy mist, the tree steaming angrily in moonlight. Her magic from earlier dissipated against his own. 

She turned to him, eyes wide.

Nobody. 

Nobody she'd ever known; nobody she'd ever  _heard of-_

"I think," he started, "no, I  _know_ \- that we could help each other," he motioned towards her smoking car.

"Yes," Hermione Granger allowed a genuine smile, the Church burning behind her eyelids. "I think we could."

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **DISCLAIMER** : I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters here within. All rights reserved to J.K Rowling. Film material is trademarked by Warner Brothers.


End file.
